


Familiar Faces

by grimcognito



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Public Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slag gets reacquainted with an old friend at a bar.</p>
<p>Set pre-canon while Grimlock is putting together the original Lightning Strike Coalition (the Dinobots before they became Dinobots)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> It will forever be my headcanon that Slag has a hair-trigger when it comes to overloads, and Sludge has zero problems with this. :D
> 
> Standard Disclaimers Apply- I own nothing and claim nothing from the Transformers franchise, IDW or Hasbro. This is a work of fiction made purely for fun and that makes no profit.

Slag was nursing his third cube of high grade, cursing his frame’s ridiculously high tolerance for the millionth time. Damn his own ability to burn through fuel before it could get him properly overcharged. There was a chime as someone entered the bar, but Slag didn’t bother looking up until he recognized the heavy, measured steps as familiar. It was Sludge. Taking up way more room in the bar than any mech should, but Slag was used to that, it was everyone else who wasn’t. 

No, it wasn’t his size but the fact that he was resting one hand against the counter, leaning just a bit to order a drink from the smaller mech behind the bar that made him stare. Slag stared, his forgotten drink halfway to his mouth as his optics locked onto the precise curve of Sludge’s lower back, the teasing glimpses of biolights that flashed and were quickly hidden again from sight as plating shifted with Sludge’s movements. The deep timbre of his voice carried, though he was too far away to hear actual words. That hardly mattered, not when the low rumble of it reminded Slag of certain pleasant memories. 

Slag vented a rough blast of warm air and his gaze flicked down to the drink in his hand. Might be a lot stronger than he’d thought. When he looked up again, Sludge was plucking a glass that looked much smaller in his hand than the bartender’s before turning to look around the bar. Slag followed the lines of his frame to the sharp sweep of his hip seam, remembering the noises he could get out of his usually quiet partner if he slipped in his glossa _just_ right. 

He didn’t notice he was revving slightly until he followed those tempting lines back up, found Sludge staring right at him with bright optics and his engine stalled for a moment. He’d forgotten how intense it was to be the center of that focus. Sludge wasn’t a genius by any stretch, but he’d learned to focus on one task at a time, every scrap of his attention on it, and damn if having that turned on him wasn’t the fastest way to make Slag’s internal temperature skyrocket.

Sludge stood and started making his way toward Slag, head and shoulders above most everyone else, and they were quick to make a path for him. As always, he somehow managed not to bump or jostle anyone as he passed. Slag preferred to shoulder his way through crowds, but he did envy Sludge’s subtle dexterity. And that little roll of hips he did when he knew Slag was staring. Yeah, that too. He had to drag his gaze back up to Sludge’s face once he was close.

Were those his cooling fans? Sure sounded like it. Good thing it was loud enough in here to cover up the sound for the most part. He moved to set his cube on the bar, but it was much harder than he’d first thought, though really, it shouldn’t have been. Sludge chuckled softly, reaching over and taking it from his hand and setting it down before settling his own hand against Slag’s side, thumb brushing ever so slightly against the curve of a transformation seam. 

Warm. Sludge was always so warm, heat rolling off of him in gentle waves that Slag could feel, they were so close. His normal composure was gone, burned away and escaping his grasp like smoke between his fingers. Damn that drink, whatever it was, and damn Sludge for looking so fragging good. No one else could get him riled up like this, embarrassingly quick but so consuming he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not right now at least. 

“What are you doing here?” At least his voice didn’t waver from his usual caustic tone, he wasn’t too far gone yet. Maybe. Then Sludge chuckled again, his other hand curling over Slag’s hip, pulling him closer, and there was no stopping the full body shiver as the press of Sludge’s field swept over him. 

Sludge leaned in to brush his lips briefly over Slag’s central helm crest, pulling away with the slightest tease of glossa, and Slag found himself clutching at Sludge’s arms. His plating flared and cycled out hot air in an attempt to cool his frame some. He wasn’t sure it was working because he only felt hotter. The words whispered against his audial caught his attention though. “Grimlock called me in, said he was building a team. Said you’d be on it too. I wasn’t about to pass that up.”

Slag froze. Grimlock had recruited Sludge? It made sense, Grimlock wanted their team to be the best of the best and Slag had worked well with Sludge in the past. To be able to do so on a consistent basis, now that he looked forward to. He’d have to remember to buy Grimlock his favorite high-grade as thanks. “You’re joining the team? When was I supposed to find out?” 

“Right now.” Sludge replied calmly, though his field was as thick with want as Slag’s, crackling with charge around them where both met. 

Slag’s fans were working overtime, and he could feel the burst of tiny shocks jumping under his plating, his charge rolling up inside him. He forgot where they were; there was no more bar or background chatter, just Sludge, right there, solid and real and hot under his hands. He closed the rest of the gap between them, pressing along the plating he’d been staring so intently at earlier and slid one hand up Sludge’s backstrut, the other tightening even more on his hip. Slid two fingers into that enticing gap and stroked, letting out a shaky vent as Sludge clutched him impossibly closer and groaned almost too softly to hear. 

“I missed you.” Sludge growled it against the side of his helm, right into his audial as he rolled his hips, so Slag would feel the shift and slide of plating all along his front. Clinging to his last shred of control, Slag ran his fingertip over hidden sensors, and honestly wasn’t sure who enjoyed it more when the answering purr vibrated through them both.

He opened his mouth to say something biting and witty when Sludge went in for the kill shot, running his glossa up Snarl’s audial fin and closing his denta around the tip just firmly enough to make Slag jerk and gasp at the sudden sensation. Slag tensed, arching as much as he could in Sludge’s hold, optics going nearly white as overload swept through his systems before dimming as he slumped against Sludge’s larger frame. 

Sludge watched every moment of it with the intensity of someone determined to create a high quality memory file, engine revving hard before settling down again. He wasn’t nearly so close to his own overload, but that was alright. He had plans for Slag and himself tonight and not a single one of them included recharging. He really had missed Slag fiercely. “I see you missed me too. How about we go somewhere we won’t be kicked out?”

Slag grunted and punched him lazily in the side, still riding out the last few waves of bliss. “You cog-headed gear-stripper, go frag yourself.”

Sludge just laughed. ”Much rather frag you.”

Not bothering to move away from his very nice spot leaning on Sludge’s chassis, Slag snorted, amused. “I can live with that.”


End file.
